


A Thursday Night in Omaha

by Paclipas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel Makes Mistakes (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is So Whipped, Drinking to Cope, Drunken Kissing, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paclipas/pseuds/Paclipas
Summary: ' His insides form into a knot as he recognizes the voice. It can’t be. It’s too much of a coincidence, after all this time.His mouth forms the single syllable before his brain can catch up.“Cas?” 'Of all the whiskey joints, in all the towns in the world, they both end up in a bar in Omaha.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 76





	A Thursday Night in Omaha

It’s a Thursday, so not quite the weekend yet, and people are already starting to leave by the looks of it when Dean enters the bar. He doesn’t care. Just tiredly drops down on one of the stools by the counter and orders a beer. Asks to keep them coming. While whoever is leaving may be thinking about having to go to work the next day, Dean is more or less coming straight from the job. Vamp nest. It hadn’t looked like it would be a tough one at first, that’s why he went alone. Omaha was on the way back from Jody’s anyway. He didn’t expect it to go all kinds of wrong.

He should have.

Forty-odd years of hunting and he still made the rookie mistake of underestimating a well-organised nest.

He wills the images threatening to come at him away with the help of the first bottle of beer. The barkeeper just gives him a sympathetic look as he places a second one in front of him before the first even hits the counter. No questions asked. Dean makes a mental note to leave a bigger tip than he normally would.

A country song is playing from the jukebox but somehow it doesn’t feel cheesy, which in turn makes Dean feel old. The second bottle of beer empties even faster than the first did. Further back there’s a group of college students playing pool, letting out victorious cries or defeated groans in semi-regular intervals. None of them are particularly good at the game. Or maybe they’re just drunk. Either way, watching them is a welcome distraction. One of the girls in the group notices and gives him a once-over as if to decide whether his attention is desirable or creepy based on his looks. She seems to decide on the former, which is ironic really seeing as the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath his red flannel is covered in vampire guts.

No wonder the nest had been so well fed, if people around here were this trusting of strangers. The girl leans against the counter next to him, close enough for him to catch a whiff of her perfume and a good look at her cleavage. She looks even younger up close, half his age. Her long dark curls spill over her shoulders as she orders a round of tequila shots. One more than there’s people in the group of pool players.

As suspected she places the excess shot in front of him once the drinks arrive. She winks at him and nods her head towards her friends in a cheeky invite for him to join. On many occasions in his life he would have. It would be so easy to accept the drink, play a round or two, and take the girl back to his motel to blow off some steam. He doesn’t, though. His times of going through almost as many flirty college girls as stuffy roadside motels are long over.

He still downs the tequila shot with a nod of thanks in her direction without paying attention to whether or not she sees the gesture. After all, while he may pass up an offer for no-strings-attached sex, he can’t say the same for the sweet burn of free liquor.

Just as he washes down the tequila’s sting with a swig of his fourth or so beer, someone takes a seat next to him and orders a glass of whiskey. His insides form into a knot as he recognizes the voice. It can’t be. It’s too much of a coincidence, after all this time.

His mouth forms the single syllable before his brain can catch up.

“Cas?”

The other man turns around and sure enough, he finds himself staring into an unmistakable pair of blue eyes. They widen in mirrored surprise to what Dean is sure his expression must show. It’s been almost a year since they last ran into each other, months since the last phone call. Neither was prepared for a reunion, in Omaha of all places.

Dean waits for a gravelly rendition of his name in what was once the angel’s trademark greeting, but it never comes. Of course it doesn’t. Because Castiel is not an angel anymore, hasn’t been for a long time, and is overall unrecognizable in more ways than just this.

He’s aged. There are heavy bags weighing down his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in days, and the lines on his forehead are becoming more prominent. Dean jokingly always warned him not to frown so much, now look what happened. He feels an overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth over the other man’s skin. Instead he finishes his beer.

“Is this pre- or post-hunt drinking?” Cas asks, gesturing to the growing collection of empty bottles Dean is accumulating on the counter in front of him.

He cracks a humorless smile. “Post. There was a nest in the city.”

“Tough one?”

“Yeah.” The images threaten to wash over him once more, so he quickly redirects the conversation away, happy to never talk about the hunt again. “How ‘bout you?”

“Ghoul. Just across the state line in Iowa.”

Dean hums his acknowledgment just as Cas’ drink is placed on the counter. When the barkeeper asks if he would like another beer, he briefly considers also switching over to whiskey but figures the headache the next day won’t be worth it. He shakes his head no, deciding to stop altogether for now. Cas notices and raises a questioning eyebrow. How the angel can read him so well even after months of radio silence is a mystery to Dean. To him it feels like he’s looking at a distant memory that’s starting to fade and feel foreign. He doesn’t know this Cas like he used to.

For a while they sit in silence as Cas slowly sips at his drink. Dean wants to quit staring but he can’t, not after the day he’s had, not when the other man sits this close after being gone for so long. The knot in his stomach tightens and he knows the alcohol in his system isn’t doing him any favors but he feels like at this point there’s nothing left to lose.

“I thought you were dead, y’know,” he confesses quietly. “None of your numbers were working. If it wasn’t for Jody keepin’ us in the loop whenever you dropped by… It was like you were dead.”

Cas doesn’t respond straight away, sighs into his drink. Avoids Dean’s eyes at all cost. The silence lasts long enough for Dean to consider leaving some money on the counter and bailing on the whole situation. He’s already reaching for his wallet when Cas finally speaks.

“I’ve been mindful of covering my tracks after an unfortunate encounter with some witches a while back,” he explains. Dean notices the lack of an apology in the statement.

“Makes sense,” he murmurs. “Still, um. Sam was really worried.”

It’s a lie by omission. Of course Sam has been worried about the lack of communication but they’ve been busy with cases and in their life it isn’t unusual to go without seeing someone they care about for long periods of time. Even if that someone is Cas.

Naturally Cas isn’t fooled for a moment, just sends him a look that’s somewhere between annoyance and disappointment. “Well, tell _Sam_ he has nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“I… Yeah. I will.”

The silence settles back between them and Dean hates it. Hates that after all this time he has nothing to say. For months he’s been imagining conversations that would happen once they ran into each other, yet now he can’t think of any of them. It’s not even that he’s upset, as he was sure he would be. First and foremost he’s relieved Cas is alright and still kicking, but more than that he’s just basking in the presence of the former angel. And he’s desperately trying to not let that show.

Cas orders another drink but he doesn’t nurse it like the first one. He downs it in one long gulp, pulling a face as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. For a moment Dean is reminded of the time when Castiel, still an angel then, drank a whole liquor store. It feels like a lifetime away.

Counting all the times either of them have died since, it’s actually several lifetimes now that he thinks of it. He wants to laugh not because it’s funny but because it’s such a mess. His whole life is a mess.

It felt like much less of one when Cas was still in it, though. Rationally, he knows that’s not true, but all rationality is currently being overruled by tequila and probably one too many beers. Before he can say something stupid, Cas suddenly is the one with his wallet out, and Dean jumps into action.

“Hey!” he calls to the barkeeper, “I got this.” He motions around their now joined collection of various empty glasses and bottles and hands over a credit card that will maybe hopefully pay for this decidedly sad looking Thursday night.

The credit card cooperates without issue. Dean signs with what he hopes is the name that matches the card and remembers at the last moment to double the tip. When he hands the receipt back to the barkeeper, he notices that the chair next to his is already vacant.

Shit.

Quickly he makes his way through the bar, past the now even drunker college students, past the people still choosing country songs from the jukebox, until he’s finally out the door. He’s hit with a late autumn breeze that already carries the bite of winter. Not far ahead he spots a familiar trench coated figure leaning against the brick wall of one of the neighboring buildings.

He approaches it as cautiously as he manages after the number of drinks he’s had. “Where I’m from you at least say thank you when someone buys you a drink,” he says in the hopes of keeping a light mood.

“Well, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Cas deadpans.

Dean allows himself a breathy chuckle. “We ain’t far from it either, though.”

The chuckle dies off when Cas looks at him, illuminated only by the colored neon light of an advertisement across the street from where they’re standing. “I can’t do this Dean, not tonight.”

Dean is genuinely confused by that statement. “Can’t do what?”

“This!” Cas motions between the two of them. “Us. I’ve had a really long day, and the hunt was a pain in the ass. I can’t deal with us right now.” With that he pushes off the wall and slowly backs away toward the opposite direction they came from with only the hint of an apology in his eyes. “I promise I’ll call some time.”

The knot in Dean’s stomach threatens to tear him to pieces. All his previous caution and tentative humor reverts to rage. Who does that bastard think he is?

“Oh, I’m sorry it’s such an inconvenience to run into me Cas!” he yells, not really caring if they end up having an audience or not. “After you’ve been _avoiding_ me for months. Really, _truly_ , I’m sorry I chose today to fucking have a drink here instead of literally anywhere else.” A few paces ahead Cas stops in his tracks, but his back remains turned. “You think _your_ hunt went bad? Wanna know what those vamps had a taste for?” Nothing could reign him in now that he’d started, all of the emotions he’d been suppressing were washing over him like a tidal wave. He was ready to drown. His voice broke as he continued. “Kids, Cas. It was _kids_. And I was too fucking late. They- I mean they couldn’t have been older than _eight_ …”

Dean’s voice trailed off emptily as he relived the horrors of the scene that had presented itself to him in the warehouse on the outskirts of town earlier in the day. There had been so much blood considering how small the bodies were…

A firm hand on his shoulder calls him back to the present. Only now does he realize that his cheeks are tear-stained. Dean straightens himself up, wiping at his face in embarrassment. The hand doesn’t leave.

“It’s alright,” Cas assures him softly. “You made sure no more children will be harmed. You have saved many.”

“Doesn’t matter to those I’ve failed, does it?” Dean sniffs. “It won’t change a thing for those parents that’ll never know what happened.”

“Dean.” Cas squeezes his shoulder, forcing him to look up into imploring blue eyes. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Oh, don’t act like you give a shit,” Dean barks, shaking Cas’ arm off. He pretends like the touch isn’t immediately missed. “A minute ago you were walking out on me like I was a cheap fuck.”

A heavy sigh is the only response he gets at first and Dean halfway expects Cas to turn around and leave for good. It’s not all that surprising when he doesn’t, though. At the end of the day this is still Cas, who’s always trying to do the right thing. A lot of the time that thing ends up to be leaving, which in turn mostly turns out not to have been the right thing after all.

Exhibit A being this exact situation they are in right fucking now.

When he looks at Cas again, the other man eyes him worriedly, both hands in the pockets of his trench coat. “Walk with me?” he asks.

Dean nods.

It’s starting to drizzle slightly as they stroll down the empty street, their destination unknown to Dean. The adrenaline of his outburst has washed some of the alcohol out of his system he notices as he only stumbles every other step. Each time he does their shoulders almost brush together but seem to repel one another like equally poled magnets. It’s better this way, Dean convinces himself.

Maybe it’s the rain, or maybe he’s exhausted from the hunt but he feels himself shiver whenever he happens to sway further away from Cas as they walk. They aren’t close enough for each other’s body heat to make any real difference but it just feels like there’s a cold draft whenever they aren’t almost touching.

“I’m sorry,” Cas finally says. His voice is low but after their silence it still feels like it echoes off the buildings they’re passing. “For leaving,” he clarifies before Dean can say anything snarky.

“Which time?” The pent up bitterness of more than just these past months rings loud and clear in the question.

“Every time, I guess,” Cas admits quietly, pulling his coat tighter around his torso in an attempt to protect himself from the rain. “It may have become a habit. When things get rough.”

“Ya think?” Dean can’t suppress a frustrated laugh. “No messages for months, Cas,” he feels himself getting riled up all over again. “Not a single phone call. When you got hurt we had to hear it from Claire in a side comment. And even then you’d already fucked off again by the time Sam and I got to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re way past ‘sorry’, man.” The words are probably as painful to hear as they are to say, but Dean doesn’t regret them.

“I don’t know what else to say...”

“Do you have _any_ idea how often I found myself freaking praying to you? It’s so stupid, I know it’s stupid. You’re not an angel anymore and it didn’t do jack-shit. Yet there I was, praying to the mighty Castiel, hoping you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That was probably the tequila talking, Dean realizes too late. Tequila always did make him regrettably honest. Fuck it. Not like it makes a difference now anyways. The drizzle had turned into full blown rain by now. He shivers again and looks up to find the pavement where Cas has been walking next to him unoccupied. A look over his shoulder reveals a dumbfounded Cas standing in the cone of light provided by a flickering street lamp.

“You prayed to me?” he asks.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dean grumbles, hoping the blush heating up his cheeks is hidden by either the darkness or the rain, preferably both.

The next instant he finds himself caught in a flurry of tan fabric and flying rain drops as he is being pushed up against the wall at his back. “You prayed to me,” Cas whispers in complete awe. His breath ghosts across Dean’s face in a brief moment of hesitation that disappears the second their lips meet. It’s a forceful kiss that knocks every last breath out of Dean’s lungs and even though he knows if he wants to keep his sanity he should put a stop to this he’s too weak to resist. It’s just been so fucking long since last time.

Cas only breaks away when they both struggle for air, but he doesn’t step away. Continues to pin Dean against the wall in the pouring rain. Dean tries to take in every little detail of the other’s face like it’s his last chance to do so. Rain drops paint their path down Cas’ cheeks and Dean follows them down until thy reach his lips. His gaze stops there longingly while he still searches within himself for the strength to walk away from all this.

“God, I missed this,” he confesses when he finally admits to himself that he wouldn’t even take one step away from this moment if his life depended on it.

“Let’s go,” Cas says, his voice sounding wrecked with emotion. He takes a step back, collects himself and sends Dean a look that makes his knees weak in a way no alcoholic beverage has ever managed.

As Dean follows Cas through a sketchy-looking alleyway he’s in an almost trance-like state, too confused by the day’s events to even form a coherent thought anymore. They stop at a doorway and from somewhere in the infinite depths of his coat pockets, Cas fishes a single key. Dean’s trance persists as they climb a few sets of stairs and only starts to wear off once the sheer insanity of the situation descends on him.

They find themselves in a sparsely furnished studio apartment, with a small kitchenette to their right and a queen sized bed on the opposite wall to their right. Dean could probably cross the entire room in no more than four big strides. He doesn’t have more time to take in the room around him before he finds himself once more assaulted by an armful of fallen angel.

He kisses back on instinct before his free will returns and he not-so-gently pries Cas off of him. “Whoa, hold it right there,” he says breathlessly. “One moment you can’t deal with ‘us’ and the next you’re taking me to your room. What’s up with that?”

Cas focuses on straightening his wet clothes to avoid Dean’s eyes. “I- I got carried away. My apologies.”

Dean drops backwards against the closed apartment door with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling in a plea for strength in this time of temptation. “You can’t do this, man. Not after the way you left.”

“Dean...”

“No, don’t you fucking ‘Dean’ me. You walked away from this. You can’t just come waltzin’ in and pick up where we left off.”

“I had my reasons back then.”

“Yeah, yeah. Being human is hard, you had to _find yourself_. I remember.” Dean runs a hand through his damp hair in frustration, feeling the anger from back then still boiling somewhere under the surface.

“It was more than that, Dean.” Cas’ voice sounds pleading, desperate. “You kept hovering around me as if I was going to break.”

Dean throws up his arms in exasperation. “Because I couldn’t lose you! You’re human now, if anything happens to you then-”

“ _Then_ we deal with it like when things happen to you or Sam, or _any other human_ ,” Cas finishes calmly for him. “We go to a hospital, or we bite down on a belt while stitching each other up.”

“You’ve had to do that before?” Dean asks in morbid curiosity.

In lieu of a reply Cas shrugs out of his trench coat, tossing it on a chair by the kitchenette. He then untucks his dress shirt and pulls it up, revealing a crooked two-inch scar just below his belly button. “I wasn’t very good at sewing then.”

Dean swallows hard, though he is not sure whether it’s because of the past injury Cas so casually talks about or rather because of the exposed skin. Most likely it’s a bit of a mix between both. “I wouldn’t have let you get hurt,” he says, more to himself than directed at Cas.

“And that’s why I had to leave,” Cas says. He steps closer to Dean and lays a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look directly at him. “I was a liability. Half your mind was always always going to be focused on me, on worrying over my well-being. You and I both know that gets hunters killed. And I could never live with myself if that happened. As an angel I was usually the one looking out for you, and Sam of course. To suddenly be a helpless bystander was… unbearable.”

Dean lifts his own hand, putting it on top of Cas’ still cradling his face. “I could have taught you to become a hunter. I hear I’m pretty decent.” The joke falls flat as neither of them so much as breaks a smile.

“Again. It was just too much of a risk. I had to learn for myself.”

“Fine,” Dean gives in. “Alright. But then why the radio silence, huh? Why fall off the face of the earth?”

A look of guilt crosses Cas’ features as he averts his gaze. “It was hard to stay away at first. I had to convince myself over and over that I was doing the right thing, and even so I was finding myself almost at your doorstep on several occasions. Then, after more time had passed and especially after I got shot while hunting with Claire, I was simply… afraid to come back. Afraid that if I did you’d turn me away.”

There is a long moment of silence before Dean unexpectedly bellows with laughter, taking them both by surprise. He drops Cas’ hand and doubles over as the laughter shakes his entire body. It gets even funnier when he catches a glimpse of Cas’ absolutely stunned expression, showing that he clearly has no idea what part of his story is this amusing.

“Look at us!” he wheezes between increasingly breathless laughter. “You- you were afraid I’d turn you away. For breaking my heart a bit?” There’s one last increase in laughter before Dean gets a grip again and takes a couple of deep breaths. “Dude. Cas. Not to air out dirty laundry but you’ve fucked up way worse than this.”

“I-” Cas blinks a couple of times before he seems to regain his ability to speak. “That may very well be, but things had changed between us. I wasn’t- I didn’t know-”

“What, you thought because we made our so-called ‘profound bond’ official after almost a decade I’d suddenly take _less_ shit from you? Have you met _anyone_ in love before?” He startles himself with the words ‘in love’ but he’s also way past caring. It was the truth then, and likely still is now though things are decidedly more complicated at the moment.

Finally Cas cracks a smile too, though it’s as subtle as ever. “I may have been an idiot,” he admits.

“Oh, you’re also still an idiot now, don’t worry,” Dean agrees wholeheartedly with a chuckle before a yawn cuts him off. “And this conversation isn’t over by a long shot. But it’s like three a.m. and I’ve had way too much to drink. All I want is to take a leak and get some shuteye. We can talk more tomorrow. That alright with you?”

“More than alright, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the subordinate tone in Cas’ voice and makes his way to the only other door in the apartment, guessing it’s likely the bathroom.

When he comes out he is presented with a half-naked Cas. Meaning it’s Cas in a pair of sweatpants but without a shirt on. He freely takes a moment to ogle the expanse of exposed skin that is Cas’ back before announcing his presence by clearing his throat.

“There is a spare set of clothes on the bed, though I’m afraid I cannot offer a second pair of pants.”

“That’s alright,” Dean says before stripping down to his boxers. He’s never been shy and it’s just nice to get out of the wet clothes. Once he’s in a clean and most importantly dry t-shirt he frowns at the bed. It doesn’t escape Cas’ notice.

“There’s just the one bed, is it alright if we share?”

“’course it is, not like we haven’t done it before,” Dean mumbles through another yawn. Even if it wasn’t alright, at this point he just wants to sleep. He settles into the side of the bed that’s technically closest to the door. Half because it gives him a quicker escape route and he prefers it that way, but also half because it means Cas can’t sneak past him as easily.

Once Cas is also settled under the covers next to him Dean rolls over to send him one last stern look.

“I swear to god if you’re gone in the morning…” There’s a threat in there somewhere but Dean doesn’t voice it when he sees Cas guiltily looking back at him. His voice softens in response to the expression. “Just… promise you’ll still be here.”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

With that Dean turns around and pulls the blanket up to his chin. It’s been one hell of a day in Omaha, with absolutely nothing going his way, yet when he closes his eyes he has to fight a smile.

It’s a fight he gladly loses before drifting off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure where this came from, originally I set out to write something completely different. Something lighthearted and fun. Needless to say, this went slightly off track. Hope you found some enjoyment in it. Comments are always welcome.  
> x


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